


Personal Is Personal

by inbox



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fallout Kink Meme prompt: Why does Boone keep the letter For Carla?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Is Personal

“I found yer letter.”

Not the most delicate way he could've put it, mind. Could've probably finessed a little. Could've picked a better time than when Boone's squatting on the other side of the campfire with his glasses reflecting the firelight and a piece of Ol' Lady Gibson's bighorner pie shoved halfway into his mouth.

“Didn't read it,” Six added. “Much. Not deliberately, anyway.”

Six took a sip of his beer, rolling it 'round his mouth and between his teeth, and watched the set of Boone's shoulders go rock rigid.

“Where'd you find it,” said Boone eventually, either oblivious to or just ignoring the crumbs of pastry flaking down the front of his shirt. “You're going through my things?”

“Nah,” said Six. “Not my style, you know that.”

“Answer the damn question,” said Boone. “Don't care about your style.”

“You go talkin' like that, you're gonna hurt my feelings.” Six waited for a laugh that didn't come. “It fell outta your bag when you went down to scrub your shirts in the river. Didn't know if it was important so I picked it up 'fore it blew away.” 

Boone didn't say anything.

“It's back in your bag. Front pocket, safe and sound. Don't you worry, I didn't add anything to it. No illustrations”

“Don't go running your mouth,” said Boone with more than a sting of frost in his tone, tossing the last of his mutton pie into the fire uneaten. “Not your place to make jokes about my business. Personal is personal.”

Six held up his beer like a shield. “I don't mean anything by it, fella. Just wanted to be honest with you. I ain't inclined to snooping.”

They sat in silence a long while, long enough for the coals in the campfire to settle deep and red, long enough that Six's chin was on his chest more often than not. He paid no mind to the sounds of Boone unrolling his sleeping mat and making a pillow from his rucksack, and would've fallen asleep where he sat if Craig hadn't cleared his throat and poked at the fire with a stick, sending a cloud of sparks pinwheeling into the air and drifting onto Six's shirt.

“What,” he said irritably, sitting up and knocking over his beer in one smooth motion. “Christ, what.”

“How much did you read? The letter. How much?”

Six scowled at him. “You settin' me on fire for that?”

“Answer the damn question.” At some point Boone had taken his glasses off, and in the dim light of the dying campfire he looked both impossibly young and impossibly old.

“I dunno. All of it. It don't matter, Craig.”

Boone fixed him with a hard stare. “It matters to me.”

Six sighed, wiping spilled droplets of stale beer from his boot. “It's your business, none of mine. I'll not whisper 'bout it to anyone. Like you said, personal is personal.”

“Good,” said Boone, more gruff than grateful. He rubbed his hand over his forehead, exhaling hard. “It's important. I don't have much important stuff left. It's... I dunno. It matters.”

“Carla, huh,” said Six after a while. 

“Yeah.” Boone made himself comfortable, folding his arms over his chest and staring up at the night sky. “Carla Anzaldúa.”

“I'm real sorry,” said Six. He didn't feel a pressing need to specify about what, exactly.

Boone grunted. “Not your fault.”

“And the letter.”

A longer pause this time. “Don't worry about it.”

They didn't speak about it again. Personal is personal.


End file.
